


At The End Of Every Darkness

by loves_books



Series: Grace [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 23:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10372065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: The nights are the hardest, even now, after things have fallen finally and wonderfully into place between them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> One hour, one idea, two fandoms. Unbetaed and unrelated apart from the title, obviously, but sometimes I find it good to just get something written and posted. The title and inspiration comes from a line in the beautiful song 'Grace' by Rag'n'Bone Man:
> 
>  
> 
> _At the end of every darkness there's a morning._

The nights are the hardest, even now, after things have fallen finally and wonderfully into place between them. Sometimes, try as he might, sleep remains impossibly distant, no matter how still he lies, no matter how dark the room and how cool the sheets, no matter his careful evening routine of warm bath, camomile tea, and lavender-scented pillow.

And no matter the sleeping man lying a hair’s breadth away, his body soft with sleep. Robbie, snoring softly, at peace with his world.

But James will lie there, trying everything and anything to coax sleep closer, to no avail. Counting sheep never works. Counting his own breaths or heartbeats is equally pointless. Telling his traitorous body to simply give up and go to sleep is an utter waste of time.

Praying is always a last resort. That never works either – at least God must be getting some rest, he’ll think bitterly, punching the pillow and rolling over yet again.

On other nights, sleep will come easily, suddenly and unexpectedly. They’ll fall into bed, either separately or together, and James will be gone before his head even hits the pillow. But.

But sleep never lasts, on those rare nights. Sometimes he’ll wake in a wild panic, with heart racing and chest tight for no good reason. At other times his eyes will simply open with no fanfare, and he’ll be wide awake again, though barely an hour will have passed since those same eyes slid closed so easily.

There seems to be no rhyme nor reason to it, as far as he’s been able to work out. And he truly has tried so very hard to understand it, bringing all the power of what he knows is a formidable mind to bear upon the problem. He’s even kept a sleep journal, of all the ridiculous things, but seen nothing in his frustrated and barely legible notes. No patterns.

It isn’t that he can’t turn that formidable mind of his to standby. It isn’t thoughts twisting and turning in his head, it isn’t overanalysing the state of his life, and it isn’t haunted memories or half-remembered nightmares – unless it’s all happening so deep in his subconscious that he is completely unaware. If that is the case, he hasn’t got a chance.

Sometimes he’ll think it must be stress-related, and sometimes it is, but then he’ll sleep an incredibly rare full night through and wake at dawn with the solution to a problem that’s been worrying him sick for more than a week. Stress could well be a factor, he’s had to conclude, but it isn’t the primary cause.

It’s not chocolate, cheese, or red wine. Not peanut butter, as someone once suggested. He’s kept a food journal on and off over the years, tracking the possible triggers, as contrary to popular opinion he actually doesn’t survive solely on caffeine or nicotine. It isn’t those either.

That’s probably a good thing. On some nights, thankfully years ago now, a packet of cigarettes had been his only company through until morning.

He’s long since accepted that this is just the way he is. He’s taken pills in the past, when he’s reached a point of teary-eyed desperation after weeks of snatching only two or three hours sleep each night, but he refuses to take them for more than a couple of days. He’s wary of growing either reliant or resistant, or even addicted. He functions well enough on the little sleep he does get, and it isn’t a new problem, after all. He’s had years to adjust.

But the nights are just so very long, and so very hard, and strangely his new relationship makes things so much worse. In days gone by he would give up on sleep quite quickly, flinging away the blankets and spending the dark hours reading, or writing, or even listening to music in his pyjamas with headphones clamped tightly over his ears.

Now, though, he doesn’t want to leave his bed. _Their_ bed. He doesn’t want to leave _him_ , not now they are finally together. Every moment spent together is precious and should be cherished – their bed is warm, and safe, and he should be content to just lie there in the darkness, hearing Robbie breathe.

Too dark to see his sleeping partner, though he knows the older man is right there by his side, a reassuring and comforting presence through the long night. A reminder of how incredibly lucky they both are. Lucky to have found each other at all, let alone to have finally admitted their love for the other after so many years of close friendship.

And those are the twin thoughts that get James through the darkness – luck, and love. Those are his true comfort in the long hours when he tries not to twist and turn, tries to be still and rest even if he can’t sleep. Tries not to disturb his partner, above all things. And sometimes he even manages to drift a little, caught somewhere between the sleeping world and the waking one, Robbie’s deep and effortless sleep helping more than any supposed herbal remedies ever could.

Love gets him through, and the endless night always dies at long last, just when he feels he can’t possibly lie there in darkness for even a moment longer. As the first glints of sunlight find their way stubbornly around the edges of his expensive blackout blinds, he can finally rise guilt-free from their mattress and face the new day.

He knows he should try to explain it all to Robbie, though he suspects that his canny partner already knows something of the truth. They’ll talk about it someday most likely, though talking won’t change things, no matter how much James might wish it could.

With the sun streaming through their opened blinds, warm arms will twine around his waist. “Good morning, love,” will be whispered into his ear, and they will hug and kiss, gently. And James can forget the darkness for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not quite as happy with this as I am with the A-Team version, but given that both were written in about an hour I hope any potential readers might still find something to enjoy here.


End file.
